Hunter Island 2: Life in the Shadows
by PiecesOfAFangirl
Summary: With Maura gone, Jane sets out to find the men responsible and exact her revenge, whatever the cost. No one dies... well, no on you like anyway. Also, this is a slow one to update, I'm learning as I'm going that it's getting more complicated. My apologies to anyone actually reading.
1. Enlisting

**Author Note: Hi folks! I know a lot of you were pretty upset with Hunter Island but I have this idea for Jane's kick ass revenge for what happened in the first one. Go on... give it a go, you might be surprised. Thanks for jumping in with this one, I'm hoping you'll all enjoy it and be sated. **

**Also, be warned, rape trigger in the chapter... even I didn't see that one coming. **

It seemed fitting really, to be back in the warehouse where she'd shot Patrick Doyle all those years ago. The building had never be restored and had stood, derelict since the event, the story and fire too great to recover from.

Bullets had flown freely, ripping holes in flesh and emotion, through Dean and Doyle and her relationship with Maura. They had eventually recovered, become even stronger than they had ever been.

A heavy footstep crunched over the rubble and Jane closed her eyes and sighed. Doyle had promised that it wouldn't be easy; she wouldn't be welcomed warmly.

"Tell me Pig..." the voice was loaded with venom and raspy from too many cigarettes. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you?"

The clatter of metal over the concrete surprised her and for the first time, she turned towards her companion. In doing so, she saw the glock lying on he floor a few feet away. To say the man that filled the space before her was intimidating would be the true definition of an understatement. He was huge. Standing at almost seven feet tall, he was easily four feet wide with a neck thicker than Jane's thigh. She swallowed involuntarily and met his gaze with her own cold one.

"Pig think she's ready for us." he paced around the derelict space, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth and dropping ash in his wake as he moved. He laughed coldly. "You wanna come play in the big league?" He breathed his question into her face on a wind of stale smoke and decayed teeth. Jane fought to recoil from the stench of his breath and locked eyes with him, refusing to let him intimidate her. She knew what these people were capable of and had seen the violence and damage they could do to each other and to women. He turned suddenly and laughed into the shadows. Jane knew they were not alone despite having not seen anyone else, she knew there'd be at least three other men loitering in the shadows.

The glint off metal was the last thing Jane Rizzoli saw as metal knuckles whistled through the air and crunched into the side of her head.

"_Jane?" The brunette struggled to open her eyes for the pounding in her head. "Jane, I made breakfast." She knew that voice. Its sweet, melodic tone washed over her and eased the pain in her skull. _

"_Maura?" The sound that came out of her mouth was barely human. _

"_Here, take these." Cool hands brushed over her face and Jane blinked against the light that shone through the blinds. In her hand, Maura held two advil. Jane sat up and took the pills with a weak smile. _

"_Damn." she sighed. "I'm never drinking again." _

_The previous night had been intense. Jane had celebrated her 40th birthday with the boys from BPD. The plan had been a few beers in the Robber with Korsak, Frost and Maura but it had escalated into shots, a strip club, a nightclub and then, well Jane just couldn't remember. _

"_Thank you baby." she leant in and placed a soft kiss on the doctors warm lips. _

"Maura..." Jane's voice was thick and the pounding in her head hadn't eased at all. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Aww Maura..." The voice mocked her. Her head shot up; an action she instantly regretted. She was still in the warehouse and confronted with the Hulk. "Save me, Maura." he continued. Jane growled low in her throat and snarled at him. At some point in her unconsciousness, they had set her in chair and tied her hands and feet. He crouched in front of her, a lecherous smirk dancing over his face as leered. From his pocket, he pulled a lock knife and ran the blade across the side of her face, making her shiver.

"Just to be sure." he said, flicking the blade across the buttons of her shirt, causing them to fall into her lap. He pulled open the material, exposing her plain bra. 'Athletic' Maura had called this set. The Hulk man looked at her pert breasts enclosed in now grey material and licked his lips. He stood back quickly, and leered at her, exposing nicotine stained teeth. "I bet you'd like to kill me." It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. The fire that flashed in her eyes answered his question. He retrieved the 9mm from the floor and settled it in her lap before raising a fist and punching her squarely in the face. Jane felt her eyebrow explode and blood run warmly down her cheek.

"Answer me, Pig." the man snarled.

"I _will_ kill you." Jane growled at him. Her face burnt and she could feel her eye swelling closed as the blood dried on her cheek. The man only laughed at her and sliced through the rope that held her hands. Instantly, her fingers found the gun and she cocked it, aiming the barrel at the hulking shape. In her previous life, men would often surrender when they found themselves targeted by a gun of any calibre yet this man stood there, regarding the furious brunette before throwing his head back and roaring with laughter.

"Go on Pig. I dare you!" he bellowed joyously as she continued to follow his movements with the weapon. Jane watched him carefully. Should she shoot this man? Was this her test? Her eyes darted around the room, trying to take count of how many others there might be concealed within the shadows. She counted three.

Suddenly, the Hulk turned and was in her face. "Tell me why I don't take you home and have some fun with you?" His filthy fingers ran down her chest, gripping violently at her breast.

"Fuck you!" she spat in his face, causing him to pull back once more and punch her three or four more times in the face. She heard the crack as her nose broke and pain exploded behind her eyes. He pushed the chair backwards and Jane hit the concrete floor with a dusty thump. In seconds he was on her, ripping the ropes from her feet and dragging her off the chair.

"Fuck me?" he yelled as he dropped her on the floor and wrestled to rip her jeans from her legs. "Fuck me, really?" he pulled the material so viciously it ripped at the seams, leaving dark purple bruises on Jane's legs.

"Yeah! Fuck you all the way to hell!" Jane fought him, clawing at his face and drawing blood. As he unzipped his pants, Jane twisted under him, dirt from the floor coating her face as she wriggled free from this giant man. Scuttling backwards, she spat dirt and blood towards her attacker who, rather than continue his assault, got to his feet and zipped up his pants. Her hand touched on cold steel and she wrapped her fingers around the weapon.

"You wanna fuck me?" she growled at him, rising to her feet in one fluid movement. "You really wanna go there?" she aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.

The Hulk screamed out as the bullet ripped flesh and muscle from his bicep, his hand instinctively reaching for the wound as he bellowed in pain. "You think you scare me?" she adjusted her aim and fixed her sights firmly on his head. He stood there dumbly for a few moments before taking a small step backwards. It was all Jane needed. 'You're my bitch now' she thought as she started slowly towards him, hunting him, her one non-bruised eye focused and steely as blood poured from her eyebrow and soaked her shirt collar. As she closed the gap between them, she grinned at him, blood dripped from her mouth. With a swift kick, she brought him to his knees, the barrel of her gun set firmly to his forehead.

"Jane." The warm voice surprised her but she didn't move, didn't release the pressure from the now sobbing man's forehead. "That's enough, Jane." She lowered the gun and looked down at the man before her, delivering one last knee to his face and breaking his nose before turning towards the sound of the voice.

Paddy Doyle stood by a large metal staircase. "Didn't think you'd shoot him." he sounded almost proud. Crossing the room, he pulled a gun from behind him and shot the Hulk in the head. "One of O'Reilly's rats." he shrugged off the shooting and wrapped a large arm around Jane's shoulder. "Come on." he guided her towards the back of the warehouse and into a waiting car. "Let's get you fixed up."

The ride was silent aside from the rain that lashed the car furiously. It reminded Jane of the day they'd buried Maura; or what little she could remember of it. It didn't take long, maybe twenty minutes. Jane stared blindly at the seat ahead of her, and gritted her teeth. She must look terrible.

_Maura had crossed to her silently, her head cocked like a curious puppy as she reached forward and clicked her nose back into place causing Jane to cry out. Even through the latex gloves that the doctor had been wearing at the time, Jane could remember Maura's touch, the heat and gentility that she wouldn't have expected from the 'Queen of the Dead'. That's what they'd called her, the cops. In that instance, Jane knew she would have Maura Isles in her life forever. But there was no way she could have anticipated the life they would have had together. The laughs, the love, the completion she felt each night wrapped in the doctors arms. _

"Tell him I sent you." Paddy had leant across her and opened the door. Jane blinked against the memory and the pain in her chest that sent tears to water her one good eye. Looking out at the nondescript building, she saw no signs, nothing but some bad graffiti and a plain, grey door. Stepping from the car, she slammed its door loudly behind her and rapped on the door.

"She's a bad idea." The man who had sat silently beside Paddy said softly. He had the voice of a therapist or councillor, totally contradictory to the line of work he was currently in. "She'll turn on you." He spoke only in facts, something that Paddy admired.

"She's a good kid." he replied as he watched Jane disappear into the building. "And she needs to do this."

Therapy Voice remained silent, turning his gaze out the window.

"Besides," Paddy continued, handing over a simple, white envelope. "It's your job to make sure she doesn't flip."

Therapy Voice took the envelope and opened it, the tearing paper suddenly too loud for the car. He read the instructions carefully before reaching into his pocket and flicking a lighter. Only when the paper was burning wildly did he open the door and allow the ash to fall to the floor. Satisfied that the paper was destroyed, he stepped from the vehicle and walked to the trunk, which was popped open. He took the large case from within, closed the trunk, turned up his collar and disappeared into the night.

Paddy Doyle was far too long in the tooth to believe a cop, especially Jane Rizzoli.


	2. Return

Jane sat in the veterinary office silently. She'd taken the tablet he'd given her without question, swallowing it dry. The vet moved around her without question, collecting the things he needed to fix up her face. Unlike Maura, his touch was cold and professional, almost fearful. He stitched her eyebrow and cleaned the blood from her face and neck. If he were of an enquiring mind, he hid it well. That suited Jane. She growled fiercely as he stitched her face back together, the lack of anaesthetic no doubt another test. She knew Paddy would want to know how she did in the fix-up and wouldn't believe what she told him.

The rattle of pills made Jane spin on the table and she squeezed her eyes closed to try and force the stars she saw away.

"Take half of one of these every four hours." He thrust the plastic jar at her and dropped it in her lap. She looked dangerous sat there. She'd not spoken, barely flinched when he stitched her and the growling unnerved him. She was a wild animal, untameable and unpredictable. In her presence, he felt true fear. Nothing near to what he felt when Paddy Doyle himself had sat there. Jane picked up the unlabelled container and glanced at it. With as polite a nod as she could manage, she hopped off the table and walk out of his office, forever he hoped.

Jane was surprised to see the car still waiting for her as she emerged into the street. The meds were kicking in and her face hurt a little less. She stepped away from the door quickly, the smell of urine rising from the concrete was making her nauseated.

Pulling open the door, she slid in beside Paddy and glanced at him.

"What now?" she asked.

Paddy ignored her question as he guided her face round to look at her fully and appraise the work. "Not bad." he sounded pleased. The driver stepped out and pulled open the same grey door Jane had just emerged from and stepped inside. "That shouldn't scar too badly." The driver returned and immediately pulled the car out of the alley.

The drove in silence for a mile, maybe two and then Paddy finally spoke. "Now you go home and take a bath." More silence, it was almost deafening. "Tomorrow will be another busy day for you."

Jane's apartment was exactly how she left it. Disgusting. Beer bottles covered the kitchen units, some stuck in long dried up puddles of spilt beer. In the corner pizza boxes topped with Chinese cartons tilted precariously, an army of flies buzzing around them. The smell was something Jane had grown used to. She tossed her keys on the couch and they immediately vanished into the pile of clothes that covered it. She'd stopped at the store after Paddy had let her out a few blocks from home and picked up the essentials. In the current case, more beer and a bottle of bourbon. Glasses were something Maura made her use, 'no need for them now' she thought as she pulled the top from the bourbon and took a long drink. The warm burn in her throat only fuelled the fire in her belly and she took a second, shorter drink before replacing the top and tossing the bottle onto the couch.

The Jane Rizzoli that was a cop would have called in, checked with Korsak and Frost and told them about her progress, her success in infiltrating Paddy Doyle's gang, at least this first stage and confirmed she was ok. But that Jane Rizzoli was no more. She slumped into the pile of clothes and sniffed at a t-shirt that fell from the back onto her shoulder. Like everything else in Jane's life, it smelt stale and in need of a wash. She tossed it onto the floor and sighed. Looking around, she wondered if Paddy had sent his goons in to bug the place, to be sure she wasn't playing him. It wouldn't be beyond him. But in the chaos that was her existence, she had no way of knowing if anything had been moved. For all the mess, she wouldn't know if she had a squatter. Jane pulled the top of one of the beers and drank half the bottle in one go before kicking some old food cartons from the table and setting the bottle in the space.

In the end, it didn't matter to her. Let Paddy bug her home, he would find nothing to cause him concern. She was a feral creature with one mission. Kill the bastard responsible for Maura's demise. The police would be no help, with their rules and regulations, their insistence on a fair trial and 'protect and serve' bullshit. In the end, it did nothing. She would dish out some good old fashioned, eye for an eye justice and then, well, after that nothing else mattered.

Picking up her beer, Jane emptied the bottle quickly, tossing it on the side with the others before heading into the shower. Every part of her hurt, the bruises on her face giving her the look of a boxer who could do with more training. She pulled off her clothes as she moved, tossing the items on the floor as she went. By the time she got to the shower, she was down to her underwear. She regarded herself in the mirror and grimaced at what she saw. Her ribs were heavily bruised, a large boot mark covering most of her side made her wince as she touched it. Her thighs were lined with black and blue, cuts from her jeans clearly visible under the storm of bruising. She ran the water, hotter than she liked but as she sat, she didn't really feel the burn, Jane Rizzoli didn't feel anything anymore.

She washed quickly and, since most of her clothes were scattered on the floor in dire need of a visit to the washing machine, she padded back into the living room naked. The pain meds the vet had given her were in the pocket of her jeans and she retrieved them from the floor just long enough to pop one into her mouth. She washed the pill down with more bourbon and retreated to her bed. It was the only thing in the apartment that didn't smell like hell or need to be excavated from under a mountain of laundry. She slipped under the covers and inhaled deeply.

Maura.

They were Maura's sheets and smelt so of the doctor. Her ridiculously expensive, specially ordered, eco friendly washing powder filled Jane's senses and she immediately felt sick. Sick for all the time that she had wasted arguing, ignoring, working. Sick for the future they should have had yet was stolen from them. She buried her head in the pillow, one taken from Maura's bed on her arrival home and inhaled the scent. Her nose was tickled by a long, blonde hair and she cried softly into the pillow. Tears of a love lost and the death of two people. Doctor Maura Isles, genius, dork, lover, life, friend and the Chief medical examiner for the commonwealth of Massachusetts, and Detective Jane Rizzoli, Victor 825, sister, lover, daughter and failure.

Neither of those women would ever be seen again.

Dawn broke over the Charles as Paddy sat in his office and read. Chaucer was his tome of choice this morning.

Therapy Voice pushed up he door silently and stood before the large, mahogany desk. He waited. It was a full five minutes before Paddy turned at looked up at him.

"Well?"

Therapy Voice cleared his throat nervously, like a shy child giving a book report in front of the entire class.

"Nothing Sir." he said sheepishly.

Paddy set the book down gently on the table and intertwined his fingers.

"Her place is a dive." Therapy Voice pressed on slowly, "She doesn't clean, there's stuff everywhere, girl needs a maid." Paddy only nodded. "She hasn't used her computer, phone or cell." His tone brightened slightly as he spoke, "Not even checked her voicemail of which she has nine."

"Well done, Dalton."

A silence fell over the room an Paddy processed this information. "Go pick her up."

If Jane's head was sore the night before, she was no way prepared for the shooting pain that ripped through her skull. She grabbed her head, and whimpered. Banging. Why was there banging? Jane sat upright in bed and reached for the gun she kept in the small table at its side. Someone was at her door.

Without care, she marched to the door, cocked her weapon and pulled the door open.

Dalton stood there, his mouth dropping open at the battered, naked Amazonian who stood there. As beaten and bruised as she was, she was still gorgeous. He hadn't anticipated just how so. "Mr Doyle wants to see you." he stuttered.

Jane only nodded and slammed the door in his face.

It took longer than usual for her to get ready due to the entirety of her wardrobe being scattered on the ground. She went with black jeans, a white vest and black leather jacket. On her ankle she strapped a small, but efficient knife and tucked her gun into her jeans in the small of her back. Downing a pain pill with a generous gulp of bourbon, she headed out the door and into her next challenge.

Paddy Doyle had resumed his reading and was just finishing up another chapter as Jane strode into his office. She didn't bother waiting for his acknowledgement before sitting in the leather seat opposite him and resting her feet on the desk.

"Feet." Paddy said firmly without looking up. "We're criminals, not animals." He shoved her boots onto the floor and set his book back down. 'God, she looks terrible,' he thought as he gazed at the woman in front of him. 'Terrible and dangerous'. "You did well yesterday." Jane's mind flashed back to the Hulk and she snarled involuntarily. "He's a barbarian but, well..." Paddy laughed. It was a joyless sound. "He has his uses!"

Jane didn't reply.

"So, your job today." Paddy opened a drawer and pulled a manilla envelope from within, sliding it across his desk to her. "That's your mark. Memorise and destroy before you leave here."

Jane ripped open the envelope and succeeded in tearing the top corner of the folded sheet of paper within in the process. "This is him?" she sounded almost gleeful. "He's responsible for Maura?"

"No." Paddy was calm and even in his reply. "He's your mark."

Jane stood up and slammed the paper on the desk. "I'm not your monkey." she growled. "I want the man who killed Maura, not some petty vendetta of yours."

She turned and started to leave.

"Jane." Paddy's voice was still perfectly calm and she paused. "I need things from you too."

She turned. She knew. He explained anyway. "How am I meant to trust a cop? You need to prove yourself before you get anything from me."

She picked up the sheet and read the information again. "Danny Flanagan?" She knew the name, hell, everyone in Boston did. He was the brother and money man of Paddy's biggest rival. The money man was guarded and more valuable that maybe even the Boss himself.

"Kill him and the next one is what you want." Paddy dismissed her with a wave of his heavy hand.

Jane read the sheet and left it on the desk. She was maybe slightly mad with grief and revenge but she wasn't stupid. As she reached the door, Paddy called her back.

"Take these." On the desk sat a Smith and Wesson .38 and a pair of black leather gloves. A truly classic combination. She slipped the gloves on and tucked the gun into the front of her jeans.

"It's untraceable, of course." Paddy assured her. "Ditch it when you're done."

Jane turned and disappeared out the door.

"Dalton." Paddy rarely had to raise his voice to get the attention of his men.

"Sir?"

"Follow her." Paddy waved him away before returning to his book. "Oh and Dalton?" The young man paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. "If she fails, you know what to do." His tone was flat and calm, as though ordering a pizza or some other nonchalant task.

"Yes sir." Unlike Paddy, Daltons voice wobbled. He turned sharply and headed out into the bright morning sun.

Jane had taken a detour back to her apartment. From her underwear drawer, she retrieved a set of brass knuckles and slipped them into her pocket before scribbling a note onto a post-it and heading out the door. She had no reason to check the corridor so didn't see Dalton standing in the shadows as she slipped the note under the apartment door opposite hers before standing tall and striding out to complete her task.

Dalton waited patiently to be sure she had left the building before pulling his cell from his pocket and hitting the speed dial. Paddy's voice was as stoic as ever.

"Sir, we have a problem." He spoke quickly. "She's put a note under a door." He listened, nodding as he received his instructions. "Yes sir." he cut off the call and put the phone back into his pocket before tussling his hair and knocking on the same door.

A rotund woman answered whom Dalton did not recognise. She looked like someone's cake baking granny. "Yes?" The woman kept the door partially closed, only allowing her face to peek around its edge. "Can I help you son?"

"Hey, my cousin Jane just slipped a note under your door, but she thinks she sent the wrong one and asked me to check." He offered her a winning smile and the women pulled the door wide open, allowing the young man to see enough of her apartment to alleviate any suspicions. Bending down, she picked up the post-it and scooped up her glasses from the chain around her neck and balanced them on her nose. "This one?" she asked, squinting at the note. "Oh this one is for me, she's such a good girl, and so brave." She read the note silently and dabbed at her eyes as she did so.

"May I see?" Dalton asked, extending his hand and plucking the paper from her fingers before she had a chance to respond.

_'Mrs Selsi, _

_I can collect your brothers ashes from James Murphy and Sons funeral home today. _

_ Jane. X'_

Dalton handed the note back sheepishly. "I'm sorry for your loss." He hung his head and nodded before disappearing after Jane. Paddy wouldn't be pleased if he let her get too far ahead of him.

"Goodbye young man." the woman called after him with a wry smile spreading on her face, and slammed the door noisily behind him.

**-/-**

Jane got to her car and kicking the wheel furiously, the tire was flat. She stared at the wheel for a while, wondering if she had a spare or whether to just hail a cab. Neither option was in her favour. To use her own vehicle could land her in troubles later, especially if it was seen and cab drivers tend to remember bruised and battered women, even if they don't initially volunteer information, its something they tend to remember and make a note of.

While she debated the best course of action, Jane started walking towards the Savin Hill area where the Flanagans operated. It was a little over two miles, an easy walk if needed and the nearer she got to the area, the less attention she would draw. Locals had dubbed it 'Stabbin' Hill' for the sheer number of stabbings that occurred in the area and so another beat up person wouldn't draw much attention.

When Dalton emerged from her building five minutes later, he felt an immediate sinking feeling. Her car was still parked outside the building and there was no sign of Jane Rizzoli anywhere. No. In the distance he could see her wild mane of almost black hair bobbing along. He upped his pace to get her within a reasonable distance and used his shorter stance to disappear in the crowd. She walked purposefully, a woman on a mission. His gut rumbled, not through hunger but with the sense he'd missed something essential. There was something wrong with this but he couldn't put his finger on it. His cell rang and he answered in swiftly.

"Yes boss." his eyes never left the back of Jane's head as listened. "It said she'd collect some old lady's brothers ashes." he spoke only when he had to. In the beginning, his chatty nature had infuriated Paddy and he had learnt the hard way to use as few words as possible. "Yes sir, I will." His phone disappeared back into his pocket and he wiped his brow. Jane was setting a rapid pace and he was almost jogging just to keep her in view.

To lose her now could mean the end of both the Doyle legacy and his life, the latter being the most important to him and so he broke into a run and closed the ever increasing distance between them.


	3. No Turning Back

Flanagan's Bar was like any other Irish pub in Boston and yet it contained some of the most lethal crime lords in the city. Jane sat across in Savin Hill park and drank her coffee as she watched people going about their daily business. It was a little after noon when she'd arrived, and she'd stopped to grab a coffee and some lunch while she checked out the bar from a distance. Danny Flanagan, she knew, would already be inside. Crime was a job for which an early start was almost always required for those on the admin side. She chuckled to herself at the idea.

A scruffy man left the bar, glancing into the park and straightening his Redsox ball cap before scurrying away.

Jane got to her feet and threw her empty lunch things in the trash can before reaching into her pocket and slipping her fingers into the brass knuckles. Taking a deep breath, she checked she wasn't being watched before crossing the street and heading into the bar.

Dalton was two blocks down and watching Jane through a pair of binoculars. The scruffy man obscured his view for a few moments before disappearing into an alleyway and he gritted his teeth. He quickly refocused on Jane as she mounted the side walk between two cars and did a final quick glance around before pulling open the heavy door and vanishing into the gloom.

**-/-**

The bar smelt of old smoke and stale beer and Jane blinked against the gloom. The lights were dimmed with the exception of one bright spotlight at the far end and she headed towards it.

"Jane Rizzoli." Her name was breathed out in a cloud of cigar smoke. Danny Flanagan sat in a booth surrounded by paperwork. There was no attempt to hide his activities or cover any of the documents. Jane stood at met his gaze with her own, cold one. "We've been hearing a lot about you." he continued to tap away on his calculator and scribble numbers in a ledger as she stood there.

"So, you know why I'm here then?" she asked him.

"Of course." he didn't bother looking up at her as he finished up one spreadsheet and closed the ledger. "Shall we?" he rose to his feet and straightened his jacket, extending a hand to guide her towards the back of the bar.

"Yes, we shall." she led the way out of the bars back door and into the alley.

**-/-**

Dalton had taken a seat outside a coffee shop and drummed his fingers on the table nervously. She'd been in there more than fifteen minutes now and he was wondering what had gone wrong. As Paddy's known associate, he couldn't risk entering the bar without starting a war. He reached for his phone. Five more minutes, then he'd call Paddy for further instructions. It shouldn't take this long to shoot someone, god knows people did it accidently in a matter of seconds. His eyes dropped to the screen of his phone. Two more minutes.

The bar door opened with a bang loud enough to draw his attention and Jane stepped into the afternoon light. She was wiping her face with a small towel, blood streaked down her cheek as she turned and ran north.

After a block or two, Jane crossed the street and vanished into the park, with Dalton sprinting behind her. She found a bench hidden back enough from the path to not draw attention to herself and cleaned her face off as well as she was able. The stitches in her eyebrow had bust open and she was bleeding. Again.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her cell and dialled Paddy's number. He answered quickly. "It's done." she said plainly before ending the call without further word and slipping the device back into her pocket.

She took a few moments to compose herself before folding the towel and putting it in her pocket and leaving the park and heading north.

Dalton also returned his phone to his pocket and smiled. He hadn't thought she would go through with it and yet, Paddy had called him to tell him she'd completed the task. At least that's what she'd said. He was content to wait and see what the morning papers would bring. If there was no word about Flanagans death, he would personally put a bullet in her head himself. At least she had nothing that could tie him to the hit. Dalton had been ordered back to Paddy's office and yet he couldn't shake the note Jane had given to her neighbour. It felt wrong and so, at risk to himself, he continued to follow her. If he'd been a higher member of the group, he'd have freely voiced his concerns but, despite his position at Paddy's right hand, he was still unsure about speaking his mind. He didn't trust this cop and if he caught her in the act of betraying Paddy, it would give him some leverage.

As he followed Jane through the streets, he noticed two things. One that her pace was much slower than when she'd made her way here and two, she appeared to be limping. Despite these things, he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Swallowing his concerns, he frowned as she turned back onto Savin Hill Ave and, despite the abundance of cabs on this busy road, continued to walk. 'Now where's she going?' he wondered as she crossed the street. It wasn't long before Jane turned into a large pharmacy and Dalton felt his concerns melting away somewhat. She emerged only minutes later with butterfly stitches holding her eyebrow wound together. 'Of course' he though and sighed. His feet hurt. He'd grown accustomed to the comfort of paddy's luxury town car and hadn't dressed for a march across the city, his dress shoes were biting into his heels and leaving large, oozing blisters. He paused for a moment, tempted to duck into the pharmacy himself and get something to relieve the pain in his feet but alas, Jane was off and moving fast again. She turned right onto Dorchester Ave and as he was catching up, she suddenly seemed to have a change of heart and he had to dive behind a dumpster to avoid being seen as she jogged over the road in front of him. Peering around the bin, he swore loudly as she jumped onto a bus. The vehicle roared away from him in a cloud of exhaust fumes, leaving Dalton to stare after them.

It was only three stops on the bus and Jane had been glad to see the bus in time. She remembered from her time on a foot patrol just how long and tedious Dorchester Ave was to walk. She knew Paddy would have a tail on her but she didn't care. She'd done her job. Just one more stop and she could go home and have a bath.

She hopped off the bus and the funeral home was just there. She'd spent the bus ride wiping her face with moist wipes to try and remove as much blood as possible. She hoped she looked somewhat presentable as she pushed open the heavy mahogany door and stepped inside.

Dalton had managed to hail a cab and tracked the bus rather well he'd thought. When Jane alighted and entered the funeral home, he was beside himself with anger. He was sure she was just another cop trying to bring them down but here she was, as promised, emerging with a fine urn. Ashes, as she'd told her neighbour.

He wanted to so desperately to prove her to be a liar and yet, she hadn't known he knew about the note so had no reason to be there unless her act was a genuine one. He slumped back in his seat.

"Now where?" the driver asked him. Dalton watched as Jane hailed a cab and slipped in.

"Where you wanna go?" the driver barked at him, turning in the seat to look at his passenger.

Dalton thought for a moment before replying. "The cab that that dark haired woman just got into..." he said thoughtfully, "can you find out discreetly where its going to?"

"Nah." the driver huffed. "Not allowed mate."

Dalton reached forward and offered the driver a neatly folder 100. "How about now?"

The driver reached for the radio. "63, this is 48, where are you 63?" there was a static crackle before the other driver responded.

"Doing a drop." his tinny voice came back. "What up?"

"Where to bro, can you cover a fare for me?"

"No can. Going to Roxbury then I'm out for today."

Dalton nodded. If Jane was stupid enough to go back to the police station, she wasn't doing it now. She lived in Roxbury and the station was way up in the North End. He tapped the driver on the shoulder and nodded.

"Ok bro." the driver said, "I'll be out here til late then." The radio fell silent and the driver looked back at Dalton once more. "_Now,_ where?" His clipped tone came from the feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that something was very wrong with this mans reasons for wanting to know about the pretty lady he'd seen get into the cab ahead of his.

"Southie." Dalton said and settled back into his seat.

The Boston Herald arrived on Paddy's desk with a number of other newspapers, all proudly declaring the death of Danny Flanagan.

"Girl did good." Paddy tossed one of the papers triumphantly to Dalton who read the article carefully. There was silence as he read but he was acutely aware of Paddys cold stare on him. "Now do you trust her?"

Dalton looked up and nodded, it was a small gesture and easy to miss.

"She's not that smart." Paddy said. "She's tough but not smart." he laughed. "I trusted her to look after my daughter." he admitted, a hint of sadness tinting his words. "But even when she was 'undercover', I knew where she was." he was proud of his reach, his money, fear and respect touched every level of Boston, from the commoner on the street to judges and politicians. "If she was still a cop, don't you think I'd know?"

Dalton looked up. He didn't know how Paddy knew that he didn't trust Jane, only that he seemed to. "Yes sir." he answered sheepishly.

"Now, get out of my office, I have work to do."

Dalton got to his feet and moved rapidly for the door. "Oh, and Dalton?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to face Paddy. "You did well, trying to protect me." Dalton smiled warmly. "But if you ever question my decisions again, I'll break your legs." Dalton's smile vanished in a heartbeat. "The one thing you can trust is that Jane Rizzoli loved my daughter." He snarled as Dalton flinched at the fact. "And she will do _anything_ for her. Even in death."

"Yes sir." Dalton stuttered and fumbled with the door handle in his rush to leave.


	4. The Rat

Dalton had left Paddy's office with a sense of dread and fear. Paddy had been very clear what happened to people who crossed him and yet he still couldn't shake the feeling there was something wrong. Cops went dirty all the time, why would Jane Rizzoli be any different? For that he had no answer. But he was determined to find one.

He returned to his apartment and began his own research.

–**/-**

Jane was sitting on her couch shovelling coco puffs into her mouth as she stared absently at the tv. The breakfast shows had long since finished, for which she was glad. All those presenters were far too chipper at some unearthly hour of the day.

A faint thud outside the door drew her attention and she set the bowl down slowly. Pulling a gun from under her cushion, she cocked the weapon and moved fluidly towards the sound. Tempted as she was to peer through the spyhole, she resisted. Being caught up with Paddy Doyle was almost guaranteed to shorten your lifespan and she wasn't about to make a foolish mistake. It wouldn't be the first time he'd sent someone to blow a hole in a door in order to catch the unsuspecting tenant by surprise. Tucking herself into the corner, she pulled the door open. No one. The hall was empty except for one newspaper on her stoop.

'Mob Money Man: Dead'

The headline screamed up at her. Jane smiled and picked the paper up. Its only when she unfolded it that she saw the post it note. It was a pale blue and blank. With a wry smile, Jane pulled her apartment door closed and headed to the recycling bins behind the building. She knew all she needed to. Tossing the paper into the bin, she shivered against the chill in the air and returned to her apartment.

–**/-**

Dalton had spent all night and most of that morning pouring over police documents and files. Thanks to the dirty cops in BPD, they had easy, instant access to the police database and he had found many files that supported Paddy's claims that Jane had quit the department and was done with the law enforcing, law abiding life. Her resignation letter had been the first thing he'd found and he'd printed it off – for his own reference, of course – but despite countless hours of searching, he could find no contact between Jane and her now ex colleagues, hell, he couldn't even find a call or text to her brother.

That bothered him more than it should.

He slammed his laptop closed and tossed it onto the couch next to him. If she wasn't leaving a paper trail, he was sure she'd lead him, in person, back to her handler within the department, and when she did, he'd be there to catch her out.

Dalton picked up his camera and put a couple of lenses into the camera bag before zipping it securely and stepping out. "I'm coming for you." he whispered into the empty hallway.

It only took a half hour to get to Jane's apartment and Dalton sat in his nondescript sedan and waited. It was only a matter of time, and time was something he had in spades.

Jane showered, threw on some less dirty clothes and gathered up her laundry, a task that took longer than even she would have anticipated. It took four trips to the laundry room and two of the industrial sized washers to get all her clothes washed and dried. She spent that time quietly, listening to the rhythmic beat of the machines and allowing it to clear her mind. Someone had left a women's magazine in the room and she flicked idly through it, not paying attention to the articles or tips on how to lose weight in time for the beach season.

Another four trips later and she had all her things put away neatly. Despite her desire to do so, she ignored the system Maura had put in place within her wardrobe. Smart clothes, work clothes, casual clothes and, as Jane put it, hoity toity clothes, of which she had few.

With no job and no social obligations, the system didn't make any sense any longer and so she put smart clothes alongside her well worn Red Sox jersey and sexy underwear with the old, grey ones.

It was only when Jane started tossing out all the empty beer bottles that she saw the sedan, and Dalton. He had done his best to be discreet, of that she was sure and yet his undented car stood out like a sore thumb in her neighbourhood. That and the immediate ducking down that had drawn her attention in the first place. Had he just sat still, she never would have seen him. She chuckled to herself but there was no humour in the sound. Paddy had obviously decided that she needed a tail. She didn't care. Instead, she carried on as if he wasn't there and, after tossing her empties into the recycling bin, she returned to her apartment, fixed the knife to her ankle and the gun to the small of her back and headed out to see what her next challenge would be.

**-/-**

"Ahh, Jane." Paddy seemed pleased to see her and she slumped into the large leather seat opposite his desk. "What can I do for you on this fine day?" he sipped his latte delicately and watched her with curious eyes.

"Nothing." Jane said, "I figured you'd have something for me to do."

Paddy grinned at her. Her eagerness was pleasing. "Sadly not." he told her as a young woman appeared silently and set a steaming mug of black coffee in front off Jane. "You did well with Danny." he waved a newspaper at her and she nodded grimly. "Wasn't sure you had it in you." He admitted.

"If it gets me to the monster that caused Maura's death." she paused and stifled a grimace, "Then I can do it."

Paddy only grinned at her. "Dalton thinks you're a rat." he said causally. If he was completely honest with himself, he had his own reservations and yet there was no evidence that would confirm them. She'd followed all his instructions without hesitation, even as going as far as killing one of his rivals. And yet, Dalton had planted that one seed of doubt in his mind that he just couldn't shake.

"Dalton's a assmonkey." Jane slumped back in her seat and fixed paddy in her gaze. "He wants to be your right hand man." Jane continued with the same nonchalant tone.

Paddy nodded thoughtfully. "I'll call you when I have a job for you." He dismissed her with one wave of his chunky hand.  
Jane strode purposefully from the office and into the lunchtime sun. Dalton was a problem. And she was a problem solver.

–**/-**

As Jane turned into her street, Daltons car stood out like the proverbial sore thumb and her mind went back to the first time she'd used that expression around Maura.

"_The guy was so obvious." Jane laughed as she sat in the corner of the coffee shop, sipping a latte with Maura. "he stood out like a sore thumb." _

_Maura's brow crinkled and she cocked her head curiously. "Why a sore thumb?" she asked. There was only genuine interest in her tone and she sipped her drink as Jane returned the puzzled expression. She had had no idea, no real answer. _

"_Sore body parts don't usually 'stand out', unless the turgescence of tumefaction is of a significant degree. But generally, they are no obviously different to parts without tenderness." _

_Jane drained her coffee. "I don' know." she admitted, "It's just a saying."_

_Maura had already opened web page on her phone, "It's an idiom, Jane." she correctly absent mindedly. Before they could probe the depths of the English language and the obviousness of sore body parts, Jane's phone had rung..._

Her phone was ringing again, this time, she knew it wouldn't be for a murder, at least not one for her to solve.

"Yeah?"

"Good Afternoon Mrs Risotto." The caller was far too cheerful, and therefore probably trying to sell something. "I'm Adam from AT+T."

"Let me stop you right there." Jane growled into the phone, pausing in the middle of the street. "I'm a killer not a fucking rice dish and I don't want your service." Her eyes locked on Dalton's car. "If you call me again, you will regret it." She stabbed at the screen of her cell and shoved the phone into her pocket, smirking coldly as Dalton slid down in his seat once more. Abandoning her plan to go back home, Jane turned and slipped down a side alley, out of Dalton's view and laughed.

She could hear a car door slam and quickly she slipped between two dumpsters and waited. To give him the tiny bit of credit he was due, he waited a minute, maybe two before entering the alley and then, when she was no longer in sight, swore loudly before running noisily down the alley.

Still giggling, Jane slipped from behind the dumpsters and turned back into the sunshine. A cold beer was just what she needed.

–/-

Dalton scanned the street he'd emerged onto and punched the air. He'd lost her. Pacing slowly, he contemplated what he should do. Before making a final decision, his cell rang.

"Yes sir?" he answered with a shaking voice.

"Where the hell are you?" Paddy did not sound in the least bit happy.

"Honestly sir?" Dalton swallowed loudly.

"Yes!"

"Sir, I believe Jane Rizzoli to be a rat and I have been.." he cleared his throat. "Checking up on her in my down time." Silence greeted him and so he continued. "She has just seen me and ducked down an alley in an effort to lose me."

"And? Did she?" Paddy chuckled at the thought of the bookish Dalton trying to master undercover work. He was great with the paperwork side but he'd never make it outside of the office.

"Well, erm, yes sir, she did." Paddy laughed so loudly that Dalton had to hold the phone from his ear.

"Of course she did." He said when he finally stopped laughing. "If you think she's a rat, you know she'll go to the Dirty Robber at some point, right?" Realisation dawned on Dalton's face. Of course. Even if she didn't' see any of her old friends, she could easily convey a message through the bartender.

Paddy had hung up so Dalton raced back to his car. From her place in the window of the bar at the end of her street, Jane only shook her head as Dalton's car raced past.

'What an idiot.' she thought as she drained her bottle and set it on the table. Still smiling, she stepped outside and sauntered home. For tonight, Dalton wouldn't be a problem.


	5. Trails

It was a little after 3am when Jane's phone burst into life on her bedside table, the light making a half awake Jane squint.

"Yeah?" her voice was hoarse from sleep.

"Morning Jane." Paddy was immune to the hour, his business operated outside of regular office hours. "I want you in my office in a half hour."

Jane was out of bed before she'd even ended the call. She sprayed some deodorant around and slipped into a vest and jeans, taking extra time to slip her knife to her ankle and a pistol to her back before racing from the apartment.

Without traffic, it only took fifteen minutes to reach Paddy's door and she knocked loudly.

"Come." Paddy commanded from the other side. He smiled as Jane walked in, her hair dishevelled and sleep still drawn over her face.

"Coffee?" he asked. It was surreal. A decorated cop and a mob boss on almost equal terms sitting down, in the small hours of the morning, for a coffee like old friends.

"Please." Jane scrubbed at her face and took a seat.

"I have some very interesting news for you." Paddy made coffee for them both before settling into his seat and pushing a mug towards Jane.

"Oh?" she sipped her drink and watched him with tired eyes.

Paddy got up and crossed the room to a large filing cabinet, he removed a file and, on return to his desk, tossed it down next to her. "That's the money man." Jane's eyes widened and she almost spilt her drink in her haste to grab the file.

"Chip Jenson."

Jane opened the file and stared hard at the picture of the man in a suit with a huge grin.

"I know this man." she said coldly.

"You do?" Paddy was surprised.

"I killed him." She closed the folder and tossed it back towards Paddy. "On the island. After he shot..." her sentence faded out.

Paddy's jaw clenched involuntarily and it took a few minutes before he relaxed enough to be able to speak. "He was the money man, but this is much bigger than him. From what we have from his file and the one surviving hunter from the island, this goes a long way up."

Jane regarded him carefully. "How far?" she asked.

"We don't know." Paddy told her truthfully. "This guy," he gestured to the file, "Was a big player in oil, a navy seal, toughest there was, until he was discharged on medical grounds." Jane picked up the file again and started to scan the documents. "We don't know what sort of medical problems he had but he moved quickly into the oil business." Paddy's tone dropped. "Too quickly."

"He had help." Jane stated.

"Yes, and from someone very powerful." Paddy paused to sip his coffee. "His financials are all in order, so he wasn't stealing or taking kick backs. There's nothing off in his records."

"So now what?" Jane asked.

"Read the file." Paddy watched her.

"Navy, twenty five years, graduated top of his class with..." Jane moved a post it note. "the highest marks ever." She stopped, staring dumbly at the post it. "Jason Beckett?" she slammed the post it beck into the file. "_Senator_ Jason Beckett?"

"Yep, buddies all through the navy." Paddy grinned. "Took our guys nine months of digging." he told her proudly. "They hid his connections well when the news broke about..."

"He's the mastermind?" Jane asked.

Paddy only shrugged. "It's taken us nine months to find that connection, Beckett is protected, well protected. All his people are personally picked, he doesn't have so much as an unauthorised fart near him."

Jane glared at the file, the name taunting her from within.

"That's it?" Jane asked softly.

"For now."

Jane got to her feet and padded across the room. As her hand reached the door handle, Paddy stopped her.

"Jane?" she half turned. "Dalton's eager. Stupid but eager, and no match for you." She smiled. "Kill him if you want, or don't it's no matter."

She didn't speak only nodded thoughtfully and raced home.

By the time she reached her apartment, Jane was wide awake, her mind racing faster than it ever had before. Jason Beckett was a well respected senator with his eye on the White House. He was well loved by almost everyone and, as far as the news, media and public were concerned, had never put a single toe wrong. And yet. Jane had long suspected that anyone that clean had to be dirty, it was impossible for a human to get through life and, in her mind, so far up the political ladder without ever having gotten into any sort of trouble. From what she knew of him, Jason had never had so much as a parking ticket. Even Maura, the Queen of following the rules and obeying the law, had collected a couple of tickets in her life so there's no way this guy hadn't. At least, that was Jane's thought.

She brewed a pot of coffee and opened her laptop. As her screen saver popped up, she sighed. If Paddy, with all of his connections couldn't dig up anything on Senator Beckett, Google certainly wasn't going to. She drank deeply from her coffee cup, its bitter burn shocking her body into movement. Glancing at the clock, it was still long before dawn and she paced her apartment. She needed more.

She grabbed her keys and her wallet and headed out.

Dalton watched with fascination as Jane emerged, still clad in only a thin summer vest despite the chill of the early morning. He could tell from her pace she was on a mission but even a quick glance told him she had abandoned her gun, usually resting in the small of her back. He got out the car and followed as discreetly as possible. Given the hour, the streets were deserted and so blending into a crowd – a skill Dalton was proud of – was impossible. Had he known what Paddy had told the cop, he would probably give up his chase and return to Paddy with his tail between his legs and beg for mercy. But he remained blissfully unaware and so followed carefully, using alley's and doorways to conceal himself.

Jane glanced over her shoulder as she crossed the street. Dalton was still behind her, that much she knew, his fancy shoes clacking loudly on the side-walk and giving him away. She laughed quietly as he tried to duck from her view and only succeeded in bumping into the Dunkin' Donuts doorway. 'Idiot.' she thought as she reached her destination.

Iqbal was a charming man of middle eastern origin who had moved to the US with his family as a young boy. Like many who fled war and disaster, they were looking for safety and a better life for their children. Iqbal had been full of the American Dream and now, owning his own newspaper stand, he claimed to be the happiest man in all of America.

"Miss Jane." His thick accent hadn't faded despite more than five decades in the States. "You are early today." She grinned at him, he was a pleasant man who remembered all of his customers by name. "You no sleep again?"

"Morning Iqbal." She ran her hands through her hair and wondered how many of Boston's secrets this man became privvy to. "I slept well, thank you. Just an early start."

He smiled and continued to set up his stand. The newspapers had only just been delivered to him and so she stomped her feet against the cold and waited patiently as he set himself up.

"I will hurry for you." Iqbal moved deftly, trying to find the bundle with Jane's regular paper in.

"No hurry." Jane said warmly as the man struggled to find her paper. "Say, would you like a coffee?"

Iqbal dropped the bundle of papers and looked up at her in surprise. He had spent so long serving people, providing them with their morning supplies that he'd grown used to others expecting of him. In the many years he had stood in this spot each morning, no one had offered him such a thing.

"Coffee, Miss Jane?"

Jane nodded to the starbucks over the street that seemed to never close. "Yeah, a coffee." He looked and smiled. "Oh." His reply was still confused.

"Tell ya what." Jane continued, "I'll grab us some coffees, maybe a donut and you can get your papers out without me getting in the way."

Iqbal nodded and watched as she crossed the street without waiting for a reply.

Dalton watched Jane talking to the newspaper vendor and frowned. What could she possibly want with him. He watched their exchange and then Jane cross the street but he couldn't see where she went as the stand blocked his view. Taking a chance, he slipped out from the alley and up to the vendor.

"Morning friend." Iqbal greeted him cheerfully.

Dalton picked up the first paper he saw and handed Iqbal some change, the whole time his focus was on trying to find Jane on the quiet street. A couple of people had already emerged into the day and were blearily making their way to the Starbucks on the opposite side.

"Good day." Iqbal refused to be anything other than polite to his customers, even those that treated him as if he were invisible.

"You got a Sports Illustrated?" Dalton's attention turned fully to the man who reached into a box and pulled the publication from within. As he was paying for the magazine, Jane appeared behind him, a bag in one hand and a cardboard tray in the other.

"Morning Dalton." she said, too loudly for the morning silence. She set the bag down and handed the smaller man a cup. "I figure if you're gonna follow me, you might as well have a coffee too." Dalton spun so fast he almost lost his balance.

"I...I..." he stuttered and stared dumbly at the large cup on offer. "I'm not following you." His protest was weak and made Iqbal laugh.

"He better no be a politics man." He accepted the drink Jane offered and nodded his thanks. "He lie worse than my dog."

Before Dalton could dig himself in any deeper, he grabbed his reading materials and ran back to his car. With his cover blown, he had no choice but to retreat and lick his wounds.

"Hey Dalt?" Jane called after him. "I'm going grocery shopping later!" she laughed as he turned, wide eyed to look at her. "Same place as last time, say about 3?"

Iqbal laughed so hard he had tears streaming down his face and had to perch on the small seat he had to compose himself.

"What a tool." Jane opened the bag and gave Iqbal the first choice of pastry. He took one and ate greedily, sugar and crumbs falling down his shirt.

"Thank you, Miss Jane." He wiped his fingers on his trousers before brushing himself down. Jane collected 2 newspapers and paid him. "You're welcome." she handed him the bag with the remaining donut in and waved him a fond farewell.

"Miss Jane?" Iqbal called her back and she smiled tightly. "Mr Korsak, he say hi."

Jane couldn't fight the smile that spread over her face. "He does?" Iqbal nodded before taking a sip of his coffee.

"He tells me how tv shows aren't accurate about police." Iqbal looked genuinely surprised and Jane laughed.

"Some are." she giggled. "You tell him from me, that Beckett woman from Castle should be senator."

Iqbal smiled and agreed. "She is wonderful cop." he wiped his mouth and chuckled, "She like you I think."

Jane returned his smile and patted the man on the shoulder. "You make sure you tell him that, ok?" she tipped him a wink before turning and heading home.

"I will Miss Jane. I will." Iqbal called after as he returned to his morning routine.

'Yes, you will.' Jane thought as she turned the corner and jogged back to her apartment. 'I'm counting on it.'


	6. Victims

As Jane turned into her landing, she saw it there, creased and crinkled on the ground. To anyone else, it was a piece of litter that had fallen from someone's recycling but to Jane, it was a message. It hadn't been there when she'd left and the only person who could have dropped it was was her neighbour opposite and she didn't put her recycling out until Sunday morning. Today was only Wednesday, so the pale blue post it had to be a message.

Setting her cup on the floor outside her door, Jane covered the gap to the post it in three strides and scooped it up before turning and rapping loudly on the opposite door. Once again, a rotund, cake baking granny of a lady answered. "Hello Jane." she was already fully dressed, although her fine hair was still in curlers. "Good morning Mrs Korsak." she grinned, "or should I call you Mrs Selsi?" both women laughed. "Do you have something for me?" Jane asked once their laughter subsided. She played with the post it.

"Oh yes." She turned and disappeared into the apartment. Vince Korsak's mother was eighty five years old but still as sharp as a tack. There was no paper trail that led her here and no clue at all as to her real identity. As far as all trails were concerned, Mrs Edith Korsak lived at Shady Oaks Retirement Village down in Florida, and had done for many years. Only three people knew the truth, and Jane was one of them.

Mrs Korsak returned to the door with a large file. "Vinnie said to say 'be careful' honey." Jane stifled a laugh. "Well, he said 'be careful', the 'honey' part was me." she smiled warmly.

"I will Mrs K, I promise." She took the file and vanished into her apartment, making sure to lock the door behind her.

Draining the last of her coffee, Jane threw the cup into the trash and settled onto the couch with the file. There was no note, nothing to indicated who had sent it or where it had come from but Jane didn't need one. The photocopies weren't great but that was to be expected from the ancient copier at BPD, still, they were clear enough to read. Copies of criminal records from all over the country lay before her. State Penitentiary logos from all across the country with descriptions and convictions of some of the most evil men in the US. She read each page quickly, trying to find the connection. It was there and she knew it.

Another pot of coffee and a couple of hours later and Jane had worked it all out. The last five images had been stapled together and she recognised them as some of the men who had been killed on the island. Their files, like those of all the others said they had been put to death by lethal injection in a state facility and yet, eight months after the supposed execution, they had been shot on an island in the middle of Gods tropical nowhere. They was dead, that much was true. But it hadn't been a chemical concoction that had done it.

The paperwork looked all in order, the men seemed to have no connection other than being sentenced to death; their crimes all different, victims of every ages, sex and creed and nothing outstanding. Until you looked at the details. They had all been moved to Whitville Correctional Facility in Pennsylvania for their execution and all the men had little or no family. A hand scribbled note at the bottom of each page read; 'no visitors in X years'. Some had been visited in the early years of their sentence but almost all had not had an outside visitor in over a decade.

Their death certificates were also included. The attending physician in every execution was the same. Jeremiah Spencer.

'So, the doc is involved somehow.' Jane thought. She could almost hear Maura in her ear reciting the Hippocratic oath; first do no harm. Jumping to her feet, she half ran, half stumbled into her bedroom. At the back of her closet she found what she was looking for. The large box was filled with medical text books, all taken from Maura's home after...

Her knowledge on the process of lethal injection was better after Maura had talked her into attending a conference about the procedure, but that had been many years ago. Pulling a book out, she flicked through until she found a section on anaesthetics. Her eyes scanned the page and she read quickly. 'Sodium thiopental (see lethal injection).' She scanned the uses and effects of the drug and her eyes were drawn to one simple line; In addition to anaesthesia induction, sodium thiopental is used to induce medical comas.

Flicking the book over, she realised it was somewhat out of date. Returning to the living room, she looked through the dates and details of execution and found that every one involved the use of sodium thiopental. Scratching her head, she flopped back on the couch. 'I wish you were here baby.' She said to the empty room. Maura would make sense of this in no time and explain, in excruciating detail, how someone could be given a lethal injection but not be dead.

With the sun rising over the Charles, Jane stuffed the file into a messenger bag and threw it over her shoulder. She'd have to look into this more if she was ever going to make sense of it. Foregoing her usual arsenal, she headed out into the bright morning.

-/-

BPD was a bustling metropolis, as always. Detectives, beat cops, medical and crime scene personnel scurried back and forth like insects, each one intent on their target and destination and yet never bumping or so much as brushing against each other, it was a dance that these people knew well.

In the bullpen, Korsak and Frost were scratching their heads as they tried to make sense of the medical information in front of them.

"I wish..." the words fell from Barry's mouth before he realised he'd spoken.

"She'd make sense of it in no time." Korsak agreed.

The men looked up at each other and smiled sadly. The death of Maura Isles had touched more lives than she would ever have believed possible. At her mothers request, her funeral had been a small, private affair but BPD had hosted their own memorial for the somewhat quirky medical examiner. More than two hundred people from all areas of the department as well as some of the families of those whose cases she had worked on converged on the Dirty Robber that wintery day. Tears were shed, stories told and many laughs had, not as Maura may have thought, at her expense, but from the good times she was involved in. She had become a huge part of their lives and, Korsak suspected, probably never even knew it.

"So..." Frost broke the maudlin silence. "The chemical composition of the lethal injection knocks you out, paralyses you then makes your heart stop?" He looked at Korsak hopefully.

"It seems so, each drug does something different." the sergeant agreed.

"So what if they doctor only gives him enough to put him in a suspended state?" Frost was thinking aloud. "Give the man enough to look dead but just really slow him down, or stop his heart long enough to pronounce him then jump start him in a truck?"

"I guess its possible." Korsak scratched his beard. "But a lot of those death row guards are just happy for a flatline, they don't wait to see if it'll jump again."

"We're also assuming that this doctor..." he flicked through the files before him, "this Jeremiah Spencer actually used the drugs he said."

Korsak pushed back from his desk and sighed heavily before grabbing his coffee cup and refilling it, fetching Frost one too.

"There's no tox screens for any of these guys." he said, setting the cup down in the chaos of Frost's desk. "No autopsy, nothing."

"We need to talk to someone about this, a doctor." Frost rubbed his head.

"Pike?" Korsak snorted loudly. Pike had been assigned to Maura's role at BPD, he did enough to get through and nothing more. Any questions or concerns were met with a stern 'no' or a derisive lecture. He was not the man to go to.

"So, Lady of Mercy then." Frost gathered up his jacket and, after taking a long drink from his cup, headed out the door.

"I wish Jane were here." Korsak sighed as they waited for the elevator, "She'd kick Pike into touch." Frost laughed nodded.

"Yeah, she will."

The drive to the hospital was short in the lunchtime traffic and the detectives were soon ushered into a very smart office. As they waited, both men shifted in their uncomfortable seats.

"Ah detectives." A tall man strode in, extending his hand to each man in turn before taking a seat behind the desk. He looked like he'd emerged from the pages of GQ rather than an operating theatre. "I'm Doctor Duncan Rushnik. What can I help you with?"

"We need some information," Korsak began, "We're working on a case where we believe victims," Frost cleared his throat. Despite the things that had happened to them, he struggled to think of the men concerned as victims, Korsak's eyes flicked over him as he continued. "were pronounced dead when they were in fact alive."

Doctor Rushnik nodded thoughtfully, "Well, there are many drugs that can do that, both legal and illegal ones." He paused as if to wait for a clue from the men sitting opposite him, when none came, he continued. "Given that you're here, I'm guessing you're looking for legal ones." Frost nodded slightly. "The first one that comes to mind would be tetrodotoxin, it will paralyse you and increase your heartrate before appearing to stop the heart completely, when in fact, just slows it to only a few beats a minute."

He watched as the detectives scribbles furiously in their notepads. "But tetrocotoxin is a potent neurotoxin, to be able to create this situation more than once you'd have to be a highly skilled doctor or the luckiest S.O.B in the world."

Korsak nodded. "And there are other drugs that can do this?" He asked.

Doctor Rushnik nodded, "The drugs they use for lethal injections could do that if administered in the right doses." he shrugged, "But they'd have to be administered by a sole doctor who confirmed time of death; a coroner would pick it up immediately."

"Many of the neosaxitoxins would create the illusion of death without actually immediately causing it." the doctor continued. "paralytic shellfish toxins." he clarified when four confused eyes met his.

"If you were going to make someone look dead, what would you use?" Frost asked suddenly.

"Wow," Doctor Rushnik flopped back in his seat. "Firstly, I know this is hypothetical so I will answer but you understand that actually doing it violates our code of ethics. The Hippocratic oath is something we take very seriously..."

Korsak held up his hand with a warm smile. "Of course, Doctor." Warm tears stung the corners of his eyes, the doctors reply was something he would have expected Maura to say in reply to such a question.

"Well," he paused again, eyeing the detectives warily. "tetrodotoxin would be the best one to use, if you knew what you were doing."

Frost and Korsak smiled at him and got to their feet. "Thank you Doctor Rushnik." They offered him a hand in turn, "you've been most helpful."

They turned and headed to the door but Frost stopped and turned in its mouth. "Why would tetrodotoxin be the best one?" he asked.

Doctor Rushnik smiled, "All drugs within a hospital setting are registered and tracked and to move them is a lot of paperwork, to steal them is more heat than you'd want." he cleared his throat, "Tetrodotoxin **is** on the select agents list of the Department of Health and Human Sciences and you do have to register to use it in research." Frost's brow furrowed. "However, if you're in possession of less than one hundred milligrams, you're exempt from the regulation." Doctor Rushnik smiled proudly. "If you know enough research studies using it, you could get enough to kill every person in the US without really raising suspicions."

Frost thanked the man profusely and followed his partner into the corridor. They headed back to headquarters in thoughtful silence. There was still a lot of work to do.

-/-

Jane returned to her apartment with an arm full of information about lethal injections and Senator Jason Beckett and a mild coffee buzz. As Doyle had suggested, Senator Beckett was so clean he practically squeaked, he donated to cancer research charities, and volunteered at his church's soup kitchen every week. It made Jane sick to think such an apparently fine man could be involved in the massacre she'd lived through.

In none of her research from the comfort of the internet café, did she find a connection between the doctor and the senator, nor between any of his aides and the doctor. The only thing she knew for certain was that the senator hadn't gone into the jail himself and pretended to kill the inmates on death row before shipping them off to the island to be hunted by blood thirsty murderers.

Her phone rang loudly from the pocket of her jacket and Jane snarled at it.

"Hey." she barked into the handset.

"Bad day?" Paddy laughed, it was a humourless sound that made her blood chill. "I got another job for you." Jane cursed silently. "Dalton wants a shot at the big time, he's got a guy he needs to talk to. You're going to help him."

"Ok." Jane's mind ran on overdrive. "Where and when?" She scribbled the information down and cursed some more as she hung up the phone.

Something about Dalton made her uneasy, he was a brown nose at best and would turn on them all at the first chance. Jane wondered if Paddy had lost his mind giving such a job to Dalton.

Reaching for the post its on the desk, she scribbled a quick note, then screwed it up and went to the sink and set fire to the small page before trying again. "Dammit." she threw the pad onto the couch and sat down heavily on top of it.

Returning her attention to the piles of papers. She had as much information as possible on one Doctor Jeremiah Spencer as she could get. Without access to the BPD databases, she was at a disadvantage but there was nothing in his public information to suggest he was a negligent doctor. This infuriated Jane. Somewhere there was a connection to the men who had managed to destroy so many lives, including hers, but she just wasn't seeing it.

But now, she had another Flanagan to deal with. Gathering up her weapon and a small knife, Jane strode out, slamming the door behind her.


	7. Turning Point

As Jane crept though the shadows, she spotted Dalton a mile out. He was wearing the same dark shades and ridiculous trench coat he'd worn when he was trailing her at Flanagan's Bar. She stood in the shadows of an alley and watched him as he attempted to be inconspicuous outside a coffee shop. To the average passer-by, he probably didn't stand out that much, other than the shades. Just a man having a coffee on his lunch hour, to Jane's trained eye, he was obviously staking out a building directly across the street. She glanced up at the intimidating façade of the building and frowned.

The building had no obvious identifying markers but Jane knew the Flanagans had offices inside. It was ideal as the security was tight and gave them a great view over the city. No one could sneak in, but it didn't stop people trying.

She strode into the sunshine and straight past Dalton, who immediately let panic slip over his face. Without a word, she walked into the coffee shop and ordered herself a drink, to go. As she re-emerged, she nudged his chair. "Walk with me." she growled but never broke pace, striding away from the building with Dalton struggling to catch up.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Jane bellowed at him as a large truck rumbled past. "You're going to get yourself killed." She paused then. Maybe that was Paddy's plan. Doyle was incompetent at best, a liability at worst. How Paddy had let him climb so far up the ladder was a mystery to her.

"What?" Dalton was defiant.

"What?" She echoed with disbelief. "This is stake out 101." she rolled her eyes. "You don't sit where you can be seen you numb-nuts."

"Well you've fixed that." Dalton mumbled. "We can't see shit here." He added under his breath.

"Yeah, I have." Jane scanned the street from their point in the park and rubbed her temples. "Now we need to fix you." She tossed her coffee cup into the trash can next to the bench and shook her head. "Take off that stupid coat." she ordered and, to her surprise, Dalton complied without argument. "You're meant to be inconspicuous." Dalton stared dumbly at the coat. "You might as well have a neon sign over your head."

She grabbed the dark aviators from him and slipped them onto her own face. "These though..." she wriggled her nose to test their fit and smiled. "These I'll keep."

Dalton whined a complaint but didn't try and take them back. "See..." Jane ignored his small protest, "I look like anyone else out here." She nodded to people walking through the park, casually dressed students in jeans and a vest or t shirt sat in groups on the grass, chatting and eating their lunch. Had Jane chosen to join them, she would have fit right in.

"Where as you..." she nodded to a man dressed in a very similar outfit to Dalton. Smart trousers and dress shoes with an oxford shirt but no tie. Next to him sat a large briefcase out of which he ate his lunch. "No shades." Jane pointed out. "You gotta dress right."

Dalton frowned at Jane for just a second, wondering why it was she was helping him. She'd made no secret of her feelings towards him.

"So." he said softly. "What now?"

Jane smiled. "Got the fob?" She asked. Dalton reached into his pocket and showed her a fob for a car, the Mercedes logo prominent on it. She snatched it from his hand and slid it into her own pocket. "Packing?" he nodded. "Good, now we pick up our mark."

They crossed back to the office building through side streets, covering maybe eight more blocks than they needed to but quickly arrived at the entrance to the car park.

"Keep your mouth shut." Jane warned him as they approached a guard on duty.

"Rizzoli?" The man grinned at her warmly. "How the fuck are ya?"

Jane extended her hand and nodded as she slipped the aviators from her face. "I'm ok thanks, Eddie. You all well?"

Eddie was a man of maybe fifty five with nicotine stained teeth and a pot belly. In her years with BPD, she had been to this building a handful of times and Eddie had taken a shine to her.

"Shania just gave me a grandbaby." He beamed proudly. "Little girl."

"Congratulations." Jane smiled, a genuine smile for the first time in many a month. "We just need to have a little look around." she nodded towards the garage.

"Sure thing." Eddie nodded, suddenly serious. "On the QT?" Jane only nodded.

"Be careful." Eddie said as he vanished back into his booth.

"Damn." Dalton sighed in wonder as they disappeared into the cold space. "That was impressive."

Jane smirked as she strode up the ramp. "Not really." Her eyes scanned the darkness, looking for the silver Mercedes.

"I thought we'd have to pop him." His sentence stopped Jane in her tracks.

"Pop him?" she turned and stared at him. "Pop him?" He stepped back from her cautiously. "No one talks like that, what the hell Dalton?"

"I..."

"Seriously, how many times have you seen The Godfather?" Dalton didn't reply, he only hung his head. "This isn't the movies, you carry on talking like a kid with a mafia movie addiction and you'll get popped for real."

She turned back, ignoring any effort he made to reply. It didn't take long for Jane to find the car they were looking for and, after a quick look around, she reached into her pocket, pointed the fob at the car and smiled as it beeped. "Get in and get down as small as you can." she ordered, adjusting the rear view mirror slightly before settling in the car behind the drivers seat. Dalton did as he was told. Resentment burnt at him as they sat, crouched, in silence. This was supposed to be his job, his way to prove to Paddy that he was ready, really ready.

They remained there for almost an hour before a door slammed loudly behind them. Footsteps echoed eerily around the silent space and Jane reached for her gun.

A well built man strode confidently to the vehicle, pointing an identical fob at the car and easing himself in easily.

"Put your hands on the wheel." Jane held the gun to the back of his head as she spoke. Less than a heartbeat between life and death. The man only laughed.

"Rizzoli?"

"Just drive." She shoved his head with the barrel of her gun. "East docks."

-/-

"How do they do lethal injections?" Frost asked curiously from his desk.

"Huh?" Korsak looked up with a mouthful of doughnut. "I don't really know." He admitted. "Never had to do one." Sugar from his doughnut snowed down on to his tie.

Frost frowned. "I'm gonna take a bit of a trip." he got to his feet suddenly, pulling his blazer from behind him.

"Frost!" Korsak called after him. "Frost, wait."

"I think we need to find out." Was all Frost would say on the subject.

Knocking on Cavanaugh's office door, Frost fidgeted from foot to foot.

"Come."

Frost pushed the door open. "Good morning Sir."

Cavanaugh smiled and offered the younger detective a seat. "What can I do for you, Barry?" He liked the young man, his skill set and enthusiasm completed his A Team perfectly.

"Sir, this case..." his words trailed off, they didn't have enough to give it a name, and to call it 'Maura's murder case', was a daily knife in the heart that none of them could bear. "We've found enough to suspect the doctor at Whitville Prison was drugging men on death row enough to make them look dead."

"But not kill them?"

"Exactly sir. I'd like your permission to go up to PA to check out their facilities and learn more about how it's possible this could happen."

"Ever heard of a phone, Frost?" Cavanaugh barked.

"Yes Sir, they're not very interested in speaking with me but the Governor has an open spot for a meeting tomorrow. I booked it in the hope I could convince him to give me a little show and tell."

Cavanaugh smiled. Damned if he didn't have the best team in the world. "You know you can't go officially pissing on their parade."

Frost grinned, a winning smile that had disarmed many a con, and more than a few women. "Yes sir." he agreed, "I thought I could massage his ego a little, get him bragging. In the name of research, of course."

Cavanaugh nodded thoughtfully. "Do NOT piss him off." He warned. "And I want you back tomorrow."

Frost nodded. "Yes sir."

Returning to the bullpen, Frost couldn't wipe the smile from his face. They were close to something, his gut danced and rumbled.

"What's the shit eating grin for?" Korsak asked.

"I'm going up to Whitville in the morning." Frost replied nonchalantly. "Gonna shake them up a little.

-/-

The black mercedes stopped next to an abandoned warehouse on the east dock. Despite the hour, it was deserted. East Docks were Paddy's and despite himself, Michael Flanagan shifted in his seat.

"Get out." It was the first thing Dalton had said since entering the car and Michael jumped. He hadn't even realised anyone else was there.

The three stepped out of the car and Dalton immediately pressed his gun into Michaels back. "Go on." he shoved the older man towards the warehouse. Jane shifted uncomfortably as she followed.

The warehouse, how many more times would she be here? She didn't know but hoped this was the last. Nothing good ever happened here. A single chair sat in the middle of the room.

"Sit." Dalton barked and Michael did as he was instructed.

"So kid, what do you want?" Michael regarded the younger man with interest. "And why'd ya need a cop, couldn't your mommy come?" He laughed.

Dalton's gaze flicked to Jane and it was all Michael needed. He grabbed his own weapon and shot Dalton in the shoulder, the surprise impact knocking him back on his rear in a cloud of dust.

Jane pulled her weapon and aimed it squarely between Michaels eyes. "Put it down, Flanagan!" she ordered.

He only laughed. "You know I can't do that, Rizzoli." He kept his weapon trained on Dalton, who only groaned on the floor. "It might upset the balance of life if you went and shot me."

"Fuck you." Dalton moaned as he reached for his gun.

"Oh kid," Michael had lost interest in the man on the floor and was staring coldly at Jane as he spoke, "I think you're already pretty fucked." As Dalton reached his weapon, Michael swung back to him and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed off the walls and Jane holstered her weapon as Daltons body twitched.

"Fucks sake, Mickey." Jane sighed.

"What?" Michael laughed and skidded the gun across the floor where Jane stopped it with her foot. "He was an irritating little shit-stain."

Jane couldn't disagree but sighed. "Give me your cell." The gangster offered her the device with a questioning look.

Jane's fingers danced deftly over the screen. "It's me." she spoke softly, as if unwilling to be overheard. "Yeah, we got one down at the East docks, the warehouse." She paused again, "Yeah, _that_ warehouse."

Handing the phone back to him, Jane gritted her teeth. "Make it good." she resigned herself to her fate.

Michael smiled as she handed his weapon back to him. "I'm only gonna nick you, Rizzoli." he told her solemnly before punching her firmly in the jaw, busting her lip and causing her to spit blood. "This is pretty good fun." He punched her hard in the stomach and Jane fell to one knee, coughing hard.

"For you maybe." she spluttered. His knee broke her nose and drenched his pants in blood and Jane swore loudly. "Couple in the ribs," she managed to splutter as the man obliged and sent a boot flying into her rib cage. The crack echoed almost as loudly as the gunshot and Jane snarled.

"Damn Rizzoli, you're tough." Michael was impressed, he'd never seen a man take a beating without crying out and Jane was taking hers almost with ease.

He pulled his gun back and waited until she regained some composure. Sirens were closing in on them and she stood, facing her attacker with a steely determination.

"Go on." She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. True to his word, Michael Flanagan barely grazed her left arm with his bullet.

"Take care Rizzoli." he handed her the weapon back and took a seat in the middle of the room.

"Fuck you Mickey." Jane stumbled from the warehouse as the sirens grew louder, throwing the weapon with what little energy she had left, into the dock before disappearing into the shadows.

It took Jane almost two hours to get to back to Paddy's office and when she did, she was greeted by a tall and beautiful blonde. "Jane?" the woman caught her in her arms as the brunette fell to her knees. "Maura?" blood caked her face and her eyes were almost swollen shut.

The woman didn't respond, only pulled Jane inside and laid her on a worn leather sofa. She knocked loudly on a door before disappearing into a bathroom and retrieving a cool face cloth and a bowl.

Paddy appeared quickly, "What the hell happened?" he asked as he took in the scene before him.

"I don't know sir, she just appeared looking like this." the blonde woman tended to Jane's injuries carefully.

"Jane?" Paddy sat heavily on the end of the couch and patted her leg. "Jane." he barked.

"Flanagan had a gun." Jane groaned as the cool cloth washed away the worst of the blood. "Didn't know." From the end of the couch, she could feel the man's fury radiating in hot waves. "Dalton didn't search him properly." she coughed and held her head.

"And where are they?" Paddy demanded.

"Dead." Jane forced one eye half open. "In dock."

Paddy smiled. "Nice job." He got to his feet and returned to his office. "Get the vet, she'll need looking over." He called back over his shoulder, eliciting a flurry of activity from his secretary.


End file.
